Set to a strict bed rest after an accidental fall in her fourth month of pregnancy, Hermione's days are now filled with embroidery and learning how to read. William assigns a tutor, and Hermione is pleased to find that she is quick to the page. Within a two month, she is reading with almost full comprehension.
The Baron's library selections are limited, but the few manuscripts he possesses are trophies of his Crusading days in the east, and gifts bestowed upon him by patrons and his fostering family to mark special occasions. These codices are filled with wondrous, horrifying tales that capture Hermione's imagination: Greek heroes slaying monsters, petty Titans and squabbling Olympians, and the terrible fate befalling those whom the gods curse.
They are books the Church would consider heretical, and yet she cannot stay her curious imagination from devouring every word of every page, nor her hunger for more of the same.
It is in such a tome that she chances upon the tale of Lycaon, the man William referred to upon her wedding night.
The ancient tale unfolds that Lycaon, the King of Arcadia, named 'The Hunter', was said to have sired fifty sons upon fourty-nine concubines and a single wife, and to have presented to each male child a wolf's skin upon his manhood to celebrate his dominion over beasts and man. All who were conceived of Lycaon's loins were deemed black-hearted men by the subjects of the land, however.
So bold and nefarious was their father as well, that he caught the attention of Zeus, the Supreme God of Olympus, who watched Lycaon from his seat in the Heavens with interest.
One day, deciding to test Lycaon's worthiness to rule, Zeus took the form of a peasant and sought an audience with the King of Arcadia. Lycaon was sharp of eye, however, and immediately recognised the Lord of Thunder in costume. With a false, wolfish smile, the King invited the god-disguised into his home and to sup at his table that very night. Zeus accepted, but was suspicious of Lycaon's benevolence.
As the King left his throne room, Zeus crept along behind him. He followed Lycaon into a bedroom where a sleeping prince, Nyctimus, lay in peaceful repose, and watched as the King brutally butchered his own son. Lycaon then cut up the body and brought it to the kitchen to be served as the evening's repast.
Now Zeus was no foolish sprite, dewy to the earth and to man's treachery. He knew that eating the flesh of a murdered innocent was one of only a few, very well-guarded and secret ways to transform any god or man alike into a slavering, four-legged beast. Zeus understood then that Lycaon had intended to trick him into an animal's form, and thus to slay him as a hunter of beasts would, and then to steal Zeus' great thunderbolt so he might taking up the god's place in the Heavens.
Zeus pretended to partake of the meal that night, but he did not eat the boy's boiled and prepared flesh, watching instead as Lycaon and his family dined upon Nyctimus' soft body and became drunk on his salted blood.
As the meal finished, at last the exalted Zeus revealed himself to all and to his knowledge of the plot against him. He judged Lycaon a deceiver of men and gods alike, unfit to rule either, and punished the King of Arcadia by turning him into the monster of his soul—half-man, half-wolf, able to neither live fully wild, nor among humankind ever again…but to feel the pull of both.
Lycaon's remaining sons, who feasted upon their brother's corpse, were turned into wild wolves themselves. Zeus sent them into the world to be hated and hunted by men for their father's treachery.
And so it was that Lycaon the Hunter became the cursed and reviled Lycaon the Deceiver, a father of monsters.
In a twist of ironic fate, his kingdom fell to his eldest daughter, Callisto, who ruled it fairly and wisely, a Queen of Magic and Men. A woman ruling a kingdom! To think of it makes Hermione's heart soar.
If only such a thing were permitted still.
~.~.~.~.~
Hermione is six months along when Charles Gideon Weasley comes to visit with his three other brothers in tow. Percival, Frederick, and George have arrived at Cranmere as well to discuss the Baronial holdings they administer on their brother's behalf and to give news of King Richard's death in France.
"John's to reign. His coronation is next month," Charles informs them all, and from her hidden perch above the great hall, Hermione sees the expressions of the Weasley men sour. They have been, to a man, loyal to the Lionheart.
While William and Charles fought at their King's side in the Holy Lands, Percival, Frederick, and George had remained in England to administer Cranmere. Ronald, of course, was still in fostering at the time, and too young for politics, however the three middle Weasleys had aided the rebellion against Prince John, who had attempted to usurp the throne while his eldest brother was away on Christ's mission. It was safe to breathe that not a one of them had any love for John Lackland.
…At least it had been, until Richard's death. Now to say such a thing aloud would be treason.
"That's a fortnight less than is proper to mourn," Percival comments, sniffing with disdain at such an idea. He is, Hermione knows, a man who respects rules.
"'Tis the way of the world," William says, sipping from his tankard. "We all abide by God's will."
Charles snorts. "More like a sovereign's will," he states, glancing at his eldest brother with grim feature. "The bending and breaking of law is a thing for those with power. The rest of us must accept punishment for our poor judgments."
William holds his brother's gaze when he asks, "And do you now wish to rule to escape such a fate, little brother?"
Shaking his head, Charles raises his palms up, showing them to be empty of intent in the universal sign of surrender. "Not me, brother. I do not wish for the burden. I leave the decision of Cranmere's fate in your hands." His hands drop, and he picks up his tankard, swirling its contents. He stares into the deep drink, as if seeing the mysteries of the world in the dark amber liquid. "Speaking of which, how fares our youngest brother? Is he waylaid in Rome, attempting to find himself a new wife?"
Hermione's heart drums loudly under her skin.
Ronald is to take another wife?
The thought had not occurred to her that he might do so, although a part of her has known since the proclamation from the Bishop that such a thing might bear fruit someday. She just had not expected such a thing so soon.
Although, she has no room to throw stones.
The hall is silent, and Hermione peeks again around the hanging tapestry to glance the reason. William is silent, glaring at Charles. Charles meets his brother's gaze, unflinching. Percival, Hermione notes, is clearly in Charles' corner, as he too appears disapproving of William. There is tension between the three men that is not easily mended.
It is George, the mediator, who boldly steps between the two with an offer to refill their tankards. As he does so, he makes small talk. His twin, Frederick, joins in. The two make ribald commentary about Prince John's hairy rump and how England will go to the dogs now that the Lionheart is no more.
"There is no easy way to say this," William finally states, sitting taller in his chair at the head of the table. His officious demeanour has his brothers going silent and retaking chairs. He clears his throat behind a heavy fist. "I will speak the truth as it has been conveyed to me in a letter that I received from the Countess Devon only days ago. It is that which has hastened me to summon you here."
His great lungs fill with air and expire just quickly as he speaks.
"As you are aware, our brother's caravan left late in the season and had decided to take the land road to Rome. They were delayed by snow-covered passes, and forced to bunker down until just this month past. With an early spring, the Earl of Devon demanded they push onwards even knowing the first warming of the world is high-tide for robbers starving after winter's famine."
He pauses, his lips pursing with grim.
"The pilgrims were set-upon after crossing the Alps, following the Frankish Route. Our dearest brother, Ronald, was...he was slain defending his Lord."
Hermione's heart falls out of her and she gives a cry of utter despair at such terrible news.
Every face in the hall looks up to her position, but all she can see is William's blue gaze conveying feigned regret.
Grief stricken, she races to her rooms as fast as her heavy belly permits and sobs as a child into her pillow. Her beloved Ronald...gone! Her dearest friend, her first love has departed, ne'er to return! His body lies in a foreign land, desecrated by evil men!
She wails and screams in despair for her loss and at the unfairness of the world. Emotions roil through her chest, burning her with their passing. The energia of her life spirit crackles at her fingertips, and suddenly she is floating above the bed, her things are spinning around the room, changing shape at random. Her trunk becomes thousands of glass beads that scatter and roll across the floor, her wooden chair near the casement becomes a pile of kindling, and precious beeswax candles melt on their sticks, wasted.
The storm ends only when her sorrow sinks to the bottom of her soul, and she falls into exhaustion so deep that she does not awaken until much later to the sight of William sitting at her bedside, watching her with his blue-gold wolf's eyes.
"All I have done has been for us, for our pack," he tells her, rubbing a hand lightly over her distended belly. "In time you will forgive me."
It is then that she understands: he is responsible for Ronald's murder. The winter robbers, she is willing to bet, were paid with the Baron's gold.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author's Notes:
Well, it seems Hermione's finally beginning to see how deep the devil's cauldron is that she's been cast into...but it seems she's also finally 'awakening' as a result...
Please review!